


Calliope

by lucy_drake_paints



Category: The Sandman (Comics)
Genre: Calliope: Watch me beetch!!, Cats, First Meetings, Funeral, Magic, Minor Character Death, Occult, Pagan Gods, Rape Aftermath, Rape Recovery, Revenge, Summoning Circles, The Dark Dreaming, magick, ric maddoc: you cannot kill me in a way that matters!, vengeance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-16
Updated: 2020-12-01
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:13:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26495437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lucy_drake_paints/pseuds/lucy_drake_paints
Summary: You might have expected, as it was a ritual circle, steeped in powerful magick that you would have found it in one of the great old houses. The kind with ivory and brass inlays in intricate occult pattern on ancient oaken floors; this one was however... not.This "short" story is about Goddesses and mortals, belief and hopes, dreams and the gnawing realities. And a cat.
Kudos: 9





	1. Chapter 1

Calliope

You might have expected, as it was a ritual circle, steeped in powerful magick that you would have found it in one of the great old houses. The kind with ivory and brass inlays in intrecate occult pattern on ancient oaken floors; this one was however crocheted out of wool and there seemed to be a coffee stain on one side of it.  
Calliope was enraged. She was also confused.  
“Why have you summoned me mortal!”  
There was a momentary pause.  
“Oh Great Calliope! I just wanted...I have some questions?”  
Calliope lithe, naked and leaning to squint at the powerful magician found herself face to face with a woman in her forties. Plump with a shock of curly hair.  
“Are you cold? I could put the fire on?”  
Calliope shook her head. She ran her fingers over the rug. It was clever, odd but clever. On the rug was a dress, a small plate of cakes and an open bottle of wine. Calliopes perfect brow was furrowed.  
She slide on the dress with large floral print.  
“What do you want?”  
Her panicked eyes darted around the room. A small living room with all the furniture pushed to the edges, a small altar beneath a book case, and a television covered with a scarf.  
“How did they do it? Madoc and Fry?”  
“I would never tell you the means of my imprisonment!”  
“No, I mean-”  
She shifted on her crooked armchair.  
“Who made it so a Goddess could be contained by such...such weak and pathetic men?”  
Calliope was silent for a while and picked up a cake and picked at it.  
“It's complicated.”  
She seemed like she was far away in thought. A shadow of something bitter moved across her face.  
Lazily she took the wine bottle and drank.  
“How is it you know of my imprisonment?”  
“Well, I'm a nurse by trade and I have a friend from uni that has Madoc on her ward. She went private, good money but he only tells one story now. Over and over. Knows it off by heart, all the staff do. How he bought a Goddess from some other perv and how she made him famous and rich. How she escaped and he is doomed forever. Also this.”  
She waved an old book, dust sheet gone and discoloured with age.  
Calliope choked a little on her wine and spent some time coughing violently. Some time passed. Finally Calliope started;  
“Belief is complicated. I was able to be captured because enough people believed it could be done that way. Also because my father-”  
She chewed her lip, it was not done to speak badly of Gods even misogynistic assholes.  
“There was a time when Goddesses ruled, where we were so powerful and revered in the deep caves of Delphi, before.. it is in the stones of the place. It was a temple to Gaia, Delphi. Then came The Golden Boy.”  
Calliope voice cracked a little. Her mind drifted to her boy, a child's chubby hands grasping at his mothers skirts. Then older, a boy of 9 years running fast as a river laughing. The breaking of his voice and his awkward smile.Was it desire that killed her beautiful boy, or jealousy, or was it love?  
All these memories passed like clouds over a mountain.  
“Men. It was Men and Gods. Gods who found cruelty and slavery tolerable. Once something evil tolerable, it becomes necessary, then preferable, then normal. Once one evil is normal all other evils can slide into human minds and bodies. But if humans can be slaves, and then so can Gods.”  
There was a noise at the door. A small thump and the scratching and yowling of a cat.  
“Not now Barlow, shoo, away.”  
Barlow did not take kindly from being excluded from his usual spot atop the radiator. In truth he was not in the slightest bit interested in what the witch was doing, only that he was not permitted. In his house no less. Barlow was a large somewhat shaggy tabby cat. He was strong and cunning and rather put out. With a flick of his tail he turned and left the closed door.  
“Bloody cat. Honesty I had to get a lock for when I am...working, a bugger for lit candle. Is the wine alright?”  
Calliope looked down at the mostly empty bottle. It was cheap and cheerful but an improvement of ancient wines which could be ropey at the best of times.  
“Yes. Quite good actually.”  
The witch looked a bit uncomfortable. Taking several breathes before asking:  
“I don't mean to be rude, but, well, you're from Greece? Why are you, well, white?”  
Calliope looked down at her hands. She laughed. It was like ringing crystal or small bells. Delicate and beautiful.  
“Well, I suppose I was more brown when I was younger. I love the sun, and skinny dipping. I should at least have a tan. I mean I was locked in a room for over 70 years but I think it is a residue from their idea of me. That I must be pale and blonde and thin. I think the marbles don't help. People see all those old statues and we have been bleached by the sun and time and they think that is how we looked. Our statues were painted very brightly. Not white at all. So overtime and as the British declared us theirs like the Romans before we became whiter and whiter. ”  
Calliope held her hands out palms upwards then smoothed them over her face and hair and as she did she began to change. Her fine golden blonde hair became dark brown tresses dressed and pinned elaborately behind her head. Her face softened and her eyebrows became darker, thicker and almost met in the middle. Her eyes became large deep pools framed by dark lashes. Her mouth became wider and lips more full. Her skin shimmered and settled into a bronze colour.  
“I wore this face for Sappho.”  
She smiled to herself. The simple summer dress became finely woven robes of silk, linen and wool.  
The witch could not help but be awestruck.  
“You just think it then, and it is so?”  
Calliope smiled.  
“No, you think it and it is so. I may have helped a little.”  
There was a sudden thumping in the hall outside followed by a banging on the door.  
“Mum the cat's been sick, Mum. Mum-”  
“Two hours, Patrick, that is all I ask for once a week, just two hours to myself! Clean it up best as you can, alright, and don't even think I won't be checking that Maths homework!”  
“But Mum-”  
“Go on. I mean it.”  
The stomping of feet went as loudly as it came.  
“Bloody cat. I swear he does it on purpose.”  
Barlow had of course been sick on purpose. It allowed him to both be at the centre of attention, and show his great displeasure at not doing exactly as he wished. He was sulking on a chair in the kitchen growling softly, mostly to himself.  
The witch checked her phone.  
“I have so many more questions but I am nearly out of time.”  
She waved vaguely at the door.  
“How old?”  
Calliope was surprised by the prickle of tears. Maybe it was wearing this face, these eyes that had seen her beautiful boy die.  
“He is just shy of 10. Not a bad kid, but not fond of maths homework. Shall I unseal the circle for you then? Could I, summon you again sometime?”  
Calliope found herself smiling.  
“Perhaps.”  
Athame in one hand, wand in the other the witch began her banishing and in a rushing wind and shower of sparks she was gone. The witch rolled up her ritual circle and placed it in the sideboard cupboard re-arranged the chairs and uncovered the television. Unlocking the door she went and grabbed a cloth and the anti-bac cleaner and went in search of cat vomit.  
“Oh hello,”  
The tall dark figure was speaking to Barlow unseen by the witch.  
Barlow nodded to the tall man. He wandered room to room and found the empty bottle of wine and picked up. He seemed to be thinking deeply and he carefully place the bottle onto the sideboard. He cocked his head quizzically and left in what looked like a shower of black sand.


	2. Death at A Funeral

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What is the best revenge? What would a Goddess do? A witch, a Goddess and Death go to a funeral.

Strange things often begin in the ordinary. Sometimes the ordinary is so ordinary that it is, in fact strange. Like many sudden changes this one begins with a bell. Sometimes it is a clock chime, or strange ringing of a telephone, or perhaps like this one.  
A door bell.  
This was not some lurid multitone chime or a irritated buzz but a crisp clear ringing. The confused and bewildered woman answering the door was a witch, and was replying to someone inside.  
“Yes I can hear there's someone at the door!”  
There was a rush of wind that sent the early Autumn leaves spiralling behind the figure framed there. A tall slim woman in a simple flower patterned dress. She was not the same woman she had been wearing it before. Goddesses don't need to be. She appeared as a regal young black woman with golden locks piled on her head. She wore multiple gold piercings and had pale golden eyes. It is Calliope.  
Calliope grinned widely and pushed past the witch, and straight into the house. She headed for the small kitchen and began to rummage in the cupboards. Find two wine glasses she gave an excited squeak placed them on the counter.  
“Calliope?”  
“Yes, I knew you would figure it out!”  
“I didn't summon you yet.”  
“Oh no but I have the best news and I wanted to share it with someone!”  
The witch looked wary.  
Calliope simply pulls a bottle of something fizzy from a cupboard that definitely didn't have it in a few moments before. The cork goes flying and the goddess in the kitchen laughs her strange and beautiful celestial laugh. She hands the glasses and the bottle to the witch. She stops to stare at Barlow the large grumpy cat before sweeping him into her arms and making her way to the witch's ritual room. The ritual room is also the same as the living room with the furniture pushed to the edges, but it is only half moved. Calliope respectfully places the extremely large cat on his preferred spot above the radiator. Barlow is both pleased and annoyed as only a cat can be.  
The witch shuts the door and slides the bolt in place.  
“We are to celebrate!”  
“What are we celebrating?”  
“The bastard is dead! Isn't it wonderful?!”  
Calliope pours the fizzy wine into the glasses and drinks deeply. She dances. There is a lightness and warmth that spreads through the room.  
“Ric Maddoc is dead, and I am so happy.”  
Above the ritual room a small boy hears the laughter and loud voices of two women. When he decides to sleep he has the most amazing dream. He is making an wonderful new video game. He can see it all so clearly in his mind. When he wakes he scribbles it all down in the back of his maths homework book. 

Calliope had been keeping busy. She found that coffee shops were the perfect place for her. She could swan anywhere in the world in a small apron tray in hand. Draped in the perfume of hot steamed milk, earthy coffee and sweet spice everyone remembered and forgot Calli. So many people came. Some came for their caffeine fix. Some for a sense of hope or normalcy in the storm of their lives. A lot came for the free wi-fi and to work. It was a good mix of strange as normal, it was like a diner that way, or a library. They didn't need to believe in her, they believed in coffee. In the barista's magical bean juice to fix the unfixable. To write the paper, to design the next new thing, to give a little hope and inspiration to those who needed it most.  
“Can I have grande caramel soy latte please?”  
Calliope's head turned to see a short slight teenage girl. Her hair was black and she wore a silver ankh.  
“Hey, longtime no see.”  
The two exchange an awkward hug.  
“You gotta minute?”  
Calli looked about her other barista's who nodded and she followed Death to a table.  
“So, I wanted you to hear it from me, Ric Maddoc is dead.”  
“Really?”  
Death nodded.  
“I know things have been rough between us since...”  
Calliope began to cry. Tears silently streaming down her face. Death put her arm around her and they cried together for a short while in the quiet murmur of the coffee shop.  
“Will you come with me, to the funeral?”  
Death pulled a face.  
“I mean, I don't usually see that part.”  
“Come on. I know the perfect mortal to take with us!”  
“It isn't Constantine is it, because I am never doing that again.”  
Calliope gave her a knowingly quizzical look.  
“I should get you that coffee.”  
“Yeah, and don't forget cinnamon sprinkles, I love that shit.”

In a tiny village called Shere in Surrey is a church. It is St James Church and is very, very old. There was a Saxon church of wood and clay and straw here and then the stone one in 1190. It sits surrounded by tall yew trees with a winding cobble lane. Richard “Ric” Maddoc might have been many things but had been the literary worlds darling. He had been rich, though living in care is not cheap. Three figures in black began their way up the winding path to church. It was a clear fine day, though cold and the dead leaves on the ancient stones were slick underfoot. The hearse with the body had already finished the climb and was waiting at the entrance.  
There had only been two other cars in the car park and one of them was the vicars. Funerals are not always sad. Or I should say not always just sad. When the deceased is loved by their community, their friends, their family there will be tears. There is also this sense of shared loved. Shared stories. If your church or synagogue or mosque is filled to capacity “paying their respects” you can feel it. The air is thick with magic.  
This was not the case.  
Calliope hadn't been sure what to expect, but she thought that maybe some of his multitude of literary friends, his agents, his old girlfriends might be at the funeral. There were three other people in the church. Calliope, Death and Maggie the witch all sat further back. The others, Calliope figured, were as follows, one was a solicitor, one was an administrator from the care home and of course, the vicar.  
In his best dry nasally drone the service began. The small church felt cold and empty. The whisper and shuffle of the long dead who seemed to be as uncomfortable as the living did. The vicar spoke about Ric at length but no-one who knew him would have said the description bore even the slightest resemblance. Then there was the awkward hymn. No-one seemed to know the words and the echo made everyone sound out of rhythm. As the last painful lines of Abide with me finished everyone sat back down on the cold hard and uncomfortable pews.  
Death was clearly pissed off but trying to to show it. Maggie was uncomfortable but she was sort of resigned to the weirdness of it.  
Calliope seemed miles away. Then it was over.  
The odd trio went down to the car park and then Maggie drove until she reached a pub. The White Horse was loud and warm. Full of life.  
Maggie had a large but uninspired coffee. Death hugged pint of stout. Calliope a glass of red wine.  
Then Calliope did something extraordinary. She produced a manuscript sort of shyly.  
The title page simply said The Girl in the Attic by Calliope.  
“What did you do Calliope?”  
“I wrote a book. I tell it as though I were human so I have to fudge some stuff but, I tell it all.”  
“All?”  
“Well instead of a being me, I am a recent graduate who began ghost writing for Ric when I came to his house. How he locked in the attic. How he raped and abused me.”  
There was a wobble then in her voice. Death gave her hand a squeeze. Maggie rubbed her back a little.  
“This was my plan. All those years ago. I would hide messages in anything he wrote so that when I wrote this when he died he would die in the only way that mattered to him. You see I asked the Fates and they laughed at me and I knew if I was going to be free, really free I would need to rescue myself.”  
A little while later the three women in black laughed and cried with each other and then left quietly together.


	3. Devil in the Detail

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At private a table in the Stardust Casino there is are two games being played. One is poker. The other is deciding the fate of a dead man.

Devil in the Detail

Lucifer was enjoying himself, and nobody was even naked. He was at a private poker table in a casino in Las Vegas. Surrounded by sin and sinners and the smell of desperation and money. He wasn't here to actually play poker. He was here because he knew it would upset the other players and that was the real game. There were five chairs, four filled and one empty and of course a dealer.  
Zeus and Hades were technically on the same team but sibling rivalry always rears it's head at a game. Zeus looked like one of those Mediterranean millionaires in a pale grey linen suit. Short hair, white but still a bull of a man. Distractedly eying and being eyed by almost every woman. Hades was finding it irritating and kept rubbing his red pomegranate cufflinks. His slim face and shock of black hair greying at the temples. He was the leopard to Zeus's bull. Then there was Morpheus. He looked like a rockstar in black t-shirt and jeans. There might even have been cowboy boots. His wild hair was shorter than it used to be and reminded him of an Irish poet, Yeats perhaps Lucifer mused. The red gem hung on his chest and Lucifer could see himself in the reflection of Morpheus' sunglasses.  
“Is this going to take all day? I have things to do.”  
Death was dealing the cards and seemed bored. Zeus replied.  
“It takes as long as it takes, you agreed...”  
“I know, I know.”  
“Anyway, as I was saying, the soul belongs to us. It was our family who was injured. It is only right Hades takes him.”  
Hades sucked his teeth and carefully lifted the corner of his cards. Impassively he added in his soft deep voice.  
“The soul made use of our magic, of our family. He benefited from his transgressions against a Goddess. It makes sense he belongs to us.”  
“She was mother of my child, a great love. How can he be anyone's but mine. He even died in his sleep. I would wreak such terrible vengeance upon him as only nightmares could conceive of.”  
No-one spoke for a moment and Death looked at the empty chair and shrugged.  
“Raise or call?”  
Each player in turn decided to raise. This was going to be a long game.   
“Why are you even here Lucifer?”  
Morpheus was clearly annoyed.   
He couldn't help it. The smirking grin.  
“”Well technically, he is one of mine. I'm not going to get all pissy about it, but born and raised C of E and all that. I have a lovely spot all picked out for him. Besides if any deserves eternal damnation it's him”  
again gesturing to the apparently empty chair.  
“Did anyone ask Calliope?”  
Death's question hung in the air and no-one answered.   
It went on like that all day. Sometimes Lucifer won, sometimes Hades, always such a tactical player. That wasn't really the game. Morpheus was too angry to play well. Lucifer banked that observation for a different game.   
The players had a small break and Death cornered Lucifer alone.  
“I heard what you did. To my brother.”  
“Yes, it was, unfortunate. Still all is well now.”  
Death laughed. She moved much closer to him and whispered as only Death can;  
“My brother can be a giant dumbass, but if you ever try and hurt him again, you will see what it is like dealing with all of my family. The Eternal are not the forgiving type.”  
Lucifer felt a chill crawl down his spine.   
He had forgotten.   
The dealer always wins.


	4. The Girl in the Attic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How to kill a writer

The Girl in the Attic

“Fuck”  
The older white man was deep into a manuscript on his rather messy desk. His overflowing ashtray still had a cigarette burning in it. He rubbed his face unshaven anxiously.  
“Fuck.”  
He was alone in his small office. It was full of books. Books he had published. Not just him of course. He was lost in the words of the manuscript, and he unhappy with what he was reading in the light of an old desk lamp.  
The curling smoke creating a layer of smog that settled about a foot above the large heavy desk. His shaking hands turned a page and he let out a startled noise. He leaned back in his chair touching the page and putting his hand to his mouth. He looked up recalling something from long ago.  
He picked up his phone and called someone. Another man's voice answered.  
“It's David, have you read it?”  
“I'm reading it now. Fuck David it is bad. Real bad.”  
“I think, I think it is true. There are too many details, even the name, Christ Ric was drunk one Christmas and said he had a muse, a goddess he said. I think I must of heard her one time when I was there. Fuck.”  
“Say nothing. Say nothing to anyone. The company will handle it.”  
“It seemed a joke... it is too horrible to believe but she knows his house. She knows his quirks and mannerisms.”  
“Legal will find her, sue her and bury this forever.”  
“What if she really did write it all?”  
“It's not possible. We will destroy her in litigation. Say nothing to anyone.”  
David hung up the phone. He continued to read. On occasion he let a silent tear slide down the side of his face.   
Dawns light slowly began to creep through the window when he was done. He sat as the dawn broke just looking at it. He leaned over and opened a bottom draw and retrieved a large manila envelope. He placed the manuscript inside and addressed it to his old friend at the ailing newspaper. He found some stamps in box under papers on his desk. He picked up his coat from the bottom of the bannister and left the house, envelope in hand.


	5. The Dark Dreaming

In the Dark Dreaming

Calliope was in The Dreaming. She and Death and Maggie were sat on the strange black sand on the edge of Here and Nowhere where there was a door to The Other. The soul and spirit of Ric Maddoc was also there. He was in a hospital gown and was cuffed with a gold manacles and a long chain that Death held in her hands.  
She could feel she was been watched and suspected it was Able as she could see Goldie trying to fly around taking off and landing like a fat chicken.  
“How much longer?”  
Death kicked at the black sand and it seemed to float for a long moment like sediment in water and then sink again.  
“How should I know. They never tell me anything.”  
Calliope sounded far away. She had felt better. She had felt a sense of peace and freedom but now she felt cold. Hollow. She had wanted his awful existence to be his punishment. He death seemed like a good thing. Yet.  
Ric cleared a throat he no longer had. ”I am sorry you know.”  
“No,” said Death “you don't get to speak.”  
Calliope turned to face him. Her gut churned. An echo of an old anxiety. She looked at him. Really looked at him with the full knowledge of the horrors he had visited on her and Ric looked away. He was sad and broken old man.  
Maggie reached for Calliopes hand. Brushing it gently against her own so she could pull away if she wanted. Calliope let the warmth fill her. It said so many things. They exchanged a glace that simply said.  
I know.  
Tears began to slide down her face.  
She took in a deep breath.  
“Do you know how many times?”  
Ric looked at Calliope and then his feet. There was a pause and no answer.  
“1,043 times. You raped me, 1,043 times.”  
Maggie gave Calliope's hand a squeeze.  
“Do you even know how many years I lost? How much it cost me, and the whole world because of your selfish violent greed? I don't care who tortures you for all eternity. My Father will make sure Hades makes your torment unique and everlasting. Morpheus will surround you with blank pages of books you can't write forever. Lucifer, well he has every flavour demon you couldn't even begin to imagine. You died but I have killed you in the only way that really matters!”  
Calliopes eyes were golden fire.  
Ric could not lift his gaze.  
There was a crack of thunder and everyone's eyes turned to see which of the gates was opening. An orange glow back lights a huge minotaur as it walks towards them all. He bows deeply and takes the chain. There is another crack and Zeus appears. He is in the same linen suit and he gives Calliope an awkward smile and uncomfortable hug. Calliope doesn't let go of Maggie's hand. Ric is pulled towards the enormous gates by the minotaur. The gold chain looks small in his enormous hands. Ric doesn't resist but he looks smaller and more frail, a weak old man. The wind picks up dancing the fine black sand into the air and Death, Calliope and Maggie watch them leave.  
“Calliope?”  
It was a woman's voice from far away. Slowly they all turn and see her. A tall woman dressed in deep dark red robes. Her dark hair piled atop her head.  
“Mother!”  
Calliope ran towards her. The two women embraced and through tears spoke in ancient Greek. After a few moments they re-joined the group. It was odd to see Calliope grow. She seemed brighter and stronger now.  
“This is my mother, the Goddess Mnemosyne. It was her teaching that got me through all this. It is her strength.”  
“No my love you did that all alone. I am so sorry for your pain and so proud of your resilience, your resourcefulness. I am sorry I had to wait until your father was gone.”  
Calliope shrugged.  
Mnemosyne eyed Maggie and then smiled and bowed to Death.  
"It has been some time Endless One."  
"Hey, I do what I can."  
Death ended the sentence with some rather awkward finger guns. She was making some rather strong, can we please leave faces to Calliope.  
"Mother, Mum would you like to have a coffee sometime?"  
Mnemosyne nodded and relieved Death put her hand out and there was a swirl of black sand and rush of air.  
The Dark Dreaming was empty, save for a small gargoyle attempting to fly like a rather fat chicken.

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first time posting here, please be gentle but give me your feed back!!!  
> I was inspired by the new audio book version of Sandman by Neil Gaiman. As much as I loved it I had questions particularly about female characters.


End file.
